Connection
by akakurogin
Summary: COMPLETE The connection between them was forever, wasn't it? TezuFuji OishiEiji suggestions
1. Connection

inspired while studying, of all things. =.= Actually, I was also reading through tiamatv's stories, and there was a story on a permanent Golden Pair breakup, and it just really affected me. So this was all written by hand in the library and during boring parts of lecture, and recently transcribed onto the computer. =.=;;  
  
Title: Connection  
  
Part: 1/2 (there will be a follow-up. It's not a chapter 1,2... more like a story and an epilogue)  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Pairing: TezuFuji, OishiEiji (mention in passing)  
  
Word Count: 1651  
  
Disclaimer: tenipuri not mine  
  
-~-~-~-  
  
Thinking back, Fuji could never remember exactly when they'd started being friends, nor exactly when they stopped. There never was a catalyst for either. Unlike the Golden Pair, neither one of them had wanted to beat the other so badly as to willingly play doubles just to learn the other's every move. Unlike Inui and Kaidoh, they did not train together daily or play doubles. And unlike Kawamura and the rest of the team, neither had quit tennis upon leaving middle school, and used that as an excuse for growing apart. No, they played together throughout high school, and on the same team, no less. All of them had, in fact. He was a third year again. It was just like back in junior high, when they were good friends, all of them.  
  
Except college was oh so very different from junior high and nothing was the same.  
  
He and Tezuka both attended Tokyo University. Their respective best friends, Kikumaru and Oishi, were together off in Kyoto University. He rarely communicated with Eiji anymore now, come to think of it. A phone call and a card on a birthday, maybe an email update on recent tournaments, and a visit or a dinner over the new Year holiday. It was natural, he supposed. People travel different paths and separate. The best of friends lose contact when interests change, locations grow distant, life passes. What's important are the memories, kept close in the heart, of times long past well spent. And that year, that team – it was a time well spent. He supposed he should be happy. Not many people have a national title joining them together forever. Even now, when Eiji came back to visit, their walk always invariably brought them to the Seigaku tennis courts, and they'd hear whispers around the courts of how they had been part of the team who led Seigaku to the national championship. Year after year, their identities were taught to the club's new members, who always looked at them with such awe and admiration.  
  
If only they knew.  
  
Oh, he knew the kids wanted to be like them. That invincible, talented team. The one that supported each other through everything, that didn't rely on any specific ace, but on all of their aces. But they didn't know what came with it. The best time of your life is not supposed to happen in the end of junior high and the beginning of high school. And if it does, it's not supposed to end, just like that, when you get to college. Because then you're always left with an empty feeling inside of you and your mind is filled with wishes of wanting to go back to that time and you're consumed by your emotions and your memories and your dusty volumes of photo albums of a time long past. And it doesn't ever go away, even when the people of that time are with you, because now you're awkward together and you don't know what to say or how to act or if you're breaking some unknown rule or worst of all, if you're just dreaming of a presence so familiar even dreams seems real, but anything will make them disappear just like a fragrant wisp of a dream into the cloudy reality of existence.  
  
Yes, those years were the best he'd ever experience, and he knew it. Nothing could be better than when the love of your life, the soul that fits yours perfectly, supporting and leaning all at once, is next to you, and even though he doesn't show it, you know he's comforted by your presence as well. Never. Many would say he was foolish, that no fifteen-, sixteen-, or even seventeen-year-old could ever know a love so deep you were comforted by the love itself. Oh sure, it was always better when the other boy held him close and whispered "I love you, always, only" into your ear, but even when he was away, you knew the bond between you was unbreakable and you felt warm just basking in the feeling enveloping your heart and taking over you. Still, they had known that love. It wasn't even lust – the most they'd ever done was kiss. He hadn't ever seen the other naked, nor had the other him. It was enough. For a body is traitorous. A body changes and the idea of beauty changes. A body is controlled, is a puppet. But the soul is not fickle. And the soul never changes.  
  
James Joyce once wrote about the government throwing a net over a newly born soul. That is impossible – souls cannot be contained and controlled and manipulated just like that. If only it were that easy… then maybe he wouldn't hurt so much.  
  
They had both known it was wrong. Wrong for them, two of the same gender, to be together. But neither had minded. Not even Tezuka, the one who grew up in such a traditional household, trained to shun all such unconventionalities. Yet they both knew it would not, could not last. Tezuka had been promised before he was born, before he was conceived, before his father was conceived, even – that if the two families ever had children of opposite gender, they would marry and join the two families. The burden just happened to fall on his Tezuka's generation, on Tezuka Kunimitsu, who was not one to blame his grandfather for insisting on keeping such an old promise, nor was one to refuse any order of his grandfather's, out of respect for the old man. And so he had dutifully married that beautiful spring weekend between high school and college, the weekend they were supposed to spend together moving into a shared dorm room to begin a life together. Instead, they ended. Fuji had attended the wedding. The sakura blossoms falling around the couple had made others around him murmur about how beautiful the two children of the promised families looked together, the man-child so handsome and the petite girl fitting him so naturally, but Fuji didn't even see the sakura. His eyes had been narrowed in his habitual smile, even as he congratulated the two.  
  
From that moment on, the smile never left his face and his piercing blue eyes were never seen again. Not even when he was alone. He didn't want to know what was under his own façade, and he sure as hell didn't want anyone else to know. No tennis match even changed his face, even if he were playing seriously, even if it were against Tezuka. He didn't know what would happen if he were ever alone with Tezuka again. Maybe the façade would fade, since secrets in the physical realm were wildly broadcasted in the metaphysical, where they communicated. But that would never happen again. Tezuka went to class, played tennis, and went home to his wife. It would never just be the two of them ever again.  
  
Eiji and Oishi were the only ones to have known of their former relationship, the two couples having often covered for the other. Strangely enough, it had been Oishi who made sure the outwardly happy, inwardly dead tennis prodigy rested after the wedding, took care of himself still, not Eiji. Perhaps it was his motherly instincts, or perhaps because they two were the ones who knew Tezuka the best and mourned together on that happy sad day.  
  
It was impossible to just be friends, not after what they'd gone through together, not after they knew what they were together. And Tezuka was most definitely not the type to be disloyal. Fuji wouldn't have Tezuka any other way. It was better for Tezuka to be the respectful, stoic, loyal husband to her than a dishonorable, disloyal boyfriend to him, because then he wouldn't be the Tezuka he knew. But at the same time, knowing that the other was spending time they used to share with someone else meant that he was no longer secure when the other was not around, that he needed to see the other everyday, if nothing else. And that was why neither of them ever considered transferring or quitting tennis. It just wasn't an option, and it was an unspoken promise that even if they weren't legally bound to spend the rest of their lives together, even if "they" weren't acknowledged, or even friends, they would still be together.  
  
That was enough, wasn't it? It was more than he had ever hoped for before. He should be happy. He had Tezuka's love. Even if that woman had Tezuka's puppet body, he still had Tezuka. Oh no, he wasn't jealous of the wife, not in that way. He'd never want to trade situations with her.  
  
No, the best part of your life should not happen when you're so young. Life… well, he couldn't complain that life wasn't fair. Life had given him tennis, had given him a true talent not many people had. Through that, life had given him Tezuka. He had been granted too much, and he had to suffer for it when life realized it and took back a gift.  
  
And that was why he was sitting in his upperclassman, athletics scholarship and academic honor roll student's too-large, too-cold, too-lonely dorm room, glance alternating between two envelopes, one containing a profession tennis tournament entry form and the other a statement of intent to register for graduate school. He couldn't do both. Which would Tezuka choose, if given the choice? There should be no question about it. Tezuka's life was in tennis. He might not be a prodigy like Fuji, but he was born for tennis. He practiced until he didn't need genius to win.  
  
He went downstairs and dropped an envelope in the mailbox.  
  
Life gave him gave him two gifts and took one away. He didn't want one without the other. And he knew Tezuka felt the same.  
  
-~-~-~-  
  
comments, critiques, errors, etc. welcomed 


	2. Disturbance

Ah… Connections was just too sad for me. =/ It made me depressed. So let's try this again.  
  
Revised: Oops.. I just realized I'd posted the unedited version everywhere, with a good-sized chunk cut off. Aiee…  
  
Title: Disturbance  
  
Part: 2/3 (gah! This turned out longer than I planned. Fuji stole my hand while I was sitting in the library writing, and refused to stop. =/)  
  
Rating: PG – just to be safe. My writing brain says G, but I don't trust it anymore.  
  
Pairing: TezuFuji  
  
Word Count: 2038  
  
Disclaimer: I'd pity the tenipuri boys with what I'd put them through if they were mine (in other words, they're not).  
  
-~-~-~-  
  
Cards. Cards and a daily glimpse in the hallway. That's all it ever was anymore. He quickly finished signing the happy, blue, "It's a Boy!" card – complete with little tennis racquets – and, stuffing it in his jacket pocket, walked off to his lab. He had just finished teaching a small group for a class he TA'ed for, and knew it was the time of day when his path would cross with Tezuka's. As a grad student pressed for time trying to finish his thesis, Fuji rarely saw daylight without glass windows or camera lens blocking it anymore – he was always at lab before dawn and leaving it after midnight. Nonetheless, he never missed passing through this hall at his time everyday – West 3, 11am – because it was where he got his daily dose of Tezuka. Today, it wouldn't be only a quick glance, though. Today, he would stop Tezuka, if only just to give him the card and wish him congratulations. Fuji hadn't been able to make any of the new baby celebrations the Tezuka's had invited him to, but it'd still be rude to not offer his best wishes.  
  
He slowed his pace a little and checked his watch. 10:59:48. So he had thrown himself a bit off by speeding walking to make up for lost time in the little campus store. There, it was eleven now. But there was still no sign of Tezuka. It was strange for Mr. Perfect to be off schedule. Then again, his wife did just have a baby, and wasn't today the day the baby was supposed to come home? Fuji mentally kicked himself for being such a dunce – of course Tezuka had probably called in to take the day off – he was needed at home to bring his wife and child home, how could responsible Tezuka have not? With a sigh, Fuji went on to his lab. Looks like he would have to visit the Tezuka household after all. Maybe if he worked fast, and skipped lunch and dinner, he could take a slight break around 9pm to quickly drop off the card and see Tezuka for the day, then return to lab? Oishi probably would've scolded him for not taking care of himself, but Oishi wasn't here anymore. And neither was Eiji. They had managed to move on. Even though the ties of the Seigaku team was weakening, the Golden Pair still had each other, and thus could look towards the future and still see it large and bright in front of them, filled with the knowledge that no matter what difficulties pro tennis would throw at them, they'd still be together, forever inseparable.  
  
Maybe he was bitter. That wouldn't do. Bitterness became hate, and even if he were to suffer in the present, watching the news alone on cold dark nights brightly showing his former best friend and his partner living out their dreams, collecting title after title, he shouldn't – no, he couldn't – hate the ever-cheerful Kikumaru Eiji, or begrudge him of his luck in life. Especially since he had a tendency to just push whomever he hated straight out of his mind, like that guy that always followed Yuuta around just to see him… Just because his own life had ended the night Tezuka had held him so very tightly for the last time, so tightly he had been sure he'd never forget the other's chest, arms, smell, feel... and yet had very much just let those memories fade out of existence… no, that didn't mean Eiji couldn't have his happiness next to him at all times.  
  
Fuji Syuusuke was jealous. Fuji Syuusuke was angry. Fuji Syuusuke's eyes were closed and his mouth was curved and his voice gentle when Tezuka Kunimitsu opened the door at his polite knock. "Congratulations, Tezuka. I'm so happy for you – a son! How lucky."  
  
No! He wasn't happy. A son wasn't lucky. A son meant the marriage had been a good one, the woman a good wife, and would be held in high esteem by the elder Tezuka who had insisted on the marriage that had killed him.  
  
"Won't you come in? Fuji-san, isn't it?" A young woman spoke from where she had suddenly appeared, behind and slightly to the side of the beautiful, strong presence frozen in the doorway.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I have to return to lab. I just wanted to drop this off," he said, handing her the card, careful not to brush the stiff as a board Tezuka in the process. Meanwhile, his mind screamed at him. iNo! That's not all I wanted! I wanted to see Tezuka! My Tezuka! I want to see him, smell him, feel him touch him bury myself in his arms and never leave him again!/i "Congratulations on your son."  
  
Fuji Syuusuke, the tennis prodigy shrouded in a mysterious veil from speculations on his sudden disappearance from the competitive tennis circuit upon entering college, smiled, bade the two luck with their son again, turned, and walked away from the house he had once known so well, where he had often slept over, innocently spending the night in Tezuka's embrace after the rest of the house had entered the realm of the subconscious. That smile didn't fade into slumber that night. That smile stayed on his face as he sat by his window, the light of the full moon spilling into the otherwise unlit room, as hands still calloused from years of holding a racquet slowly turned the slightly yellowed pages of an aged photo album, fingers still soft as a rose petal wet with the morning dew tracing over forgotten familiar images, eternal memories of an ephemeral time. A stack of identical albums rested on either side of him, labeled from Seigaku I – VII. Another stack of ten albums, these from high school, awaited their perusal on the floor next to the sofa.  
  
But Fuji's eyes saw none of that. Fuji's closed eyes saw the Hyoutei Gakuen match back in the prefectural tournament his senior year of junior high. He heard the cheers of "Hyoutei!" and "Atobe!" He felt his heart skip several beats as Tezuka gripped his shoulder. He realized, all over again, exactly how important Tezuka was to him. The next page showed Atobe raising Tezuka's unhurt arm, and one of the then wild Hyoutei team. One face caught his eyes. Could it be? Fuji peered closer. It sure as hell looked it.  
  
Fuji was intrigued. He flipped to the front of the album, which held all the negatives of the pictures in that album. He located the interesting one. He ran to his walk-in closet, more commonly known as his darkroom.  
  
An hour later, he removed the dried print from the pins holding it up, and took it out to his study. The picture, blown up almost four times from the original, left nothing to doubt. There was that sleeping Regular with the magic volley – Jirou or something? A name like that had been in the tennis section of the newspaper lately. And on the bench behind him, wearing a Hyoutei Tennis Club jacket, was a petite girl. Odd that a girl would be wearing the boy's club's jacket, but that didn't click in Fuji's mind. The girl's face did. Though several years younger, it was unmistakably the face of the woman in Tezuka's house that night, who had somehow known his name. He had thought it was strange for Tezuka's wife to remember his name, after only having met him for a few minutes at their wedding. But if she had been into tennis, and at Hyoutei, no less, well, that explained it.  
  
It was annoying. Fuji was decidedly not happy. Not only had he not slept the night before, he hadn't been able to finish looking through his photo albums. Blowing up that picture had thrown off his time, and he had only made it to when they had been setting out for the National tournament. But his thesis needed to be done. And so Fuji dragged himself through another morning, eagerly awaiting 11am.  
  
Tezuka wasn't there. Again. This wasn't good – Tezuka better not make a habit of skipping out on him. Fuji was too tired to remember that Tezuka had looked nearly destroyed one day when Fuji had been a little late, hidden behind a tall crowd of people, silently, secretly watching Tezuka's reaction. He forgot that their need to make sure the other was OK wasn't one-sided. No – Fuji had been just too tired of life.  
  
Of course, that was why he hadn't expected Tezuka Ayana to open the door when he knocked, excuse/present in hand, prepared to tell his Tezuka that he had forgotten to bring the baby's present with him the previous day. Thus, he hadn't expected to be questioned on the young parents' whereabouts. Tezuka and his wife hadn't been seen since last night? Both of them were gone before the rest of the household had awakened to the baby's neglected cries?  
  
iHe might never see Tezuka again?/i  
  
Stunned, a still-smiling shell of a slight sadist (1) walked back to his apartment.  
  
Unaware, same shell nearly tripped over a figure resting against his door.  
  
Stupefied, said shell stared as said figure raised his head, perfectly mussed hair giving way to a tired, excited, sad, ecstatic, lost face, partly covered by practical wire-rimmed glasses. "Fuji."  
  
"Te…Te…" Fuji stuttered uncharacteristically. Not sleeping was most definitely joining Aoi on Fuji's "Avoid At All Costs" list.  
  
"Can we talk inside?"  
  
Silent, Fuji nodded, reaching over to unlock the door as the cause of his distress stood up and moved out of the way. Once inside, Fuji regained some sense and bustled around getting his guest – how it hurt to think of Tezuka as merely a guest – a pair of slippers and set some water boiling for tea. The whistle of the steam from the kettle soothed him and returned some of his sense to him, but staring at Tezuka, who awkwardly flipped through some pages of the albums he hadn't put away yet, did not help.  
  
In any case, he took a deep breath before carrying a tray of tea out for them, sitting down on the Western-style sofa next to the only one who could rattle him so, the special distance between them nothing compared to the distance of time that had so separated them. Had it really been nearly seven years since that day?  
  
I"Fuji, I'm getting married."  
  
Blue eyes flickered briefly. "Congratulations."  
  
"We can't do this anymore."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Do you?" Could you? "My grandfather. He's forcing me…" I can't be dishonorable.  
  
He meant that unspoken comment in more ways than one, Fuji knew. They, two boys, were dishonorable. Disobeying his grandfather was dishonorable. Being a faithless husband was dishonorable. Everything about them was dishonorable.  
  
"Tezuka? Hold me tonight?" Hold me tight so that I never forget what you feel like what you smell like how it is when I'm with you and everything will be OK because you're here and that's all that matters for now…/I  
  
Those arms – so many nights had been spent dreaming of those arms around his shoulders, the other's presence filling and surround him, shielding him from life's disappointments with a cover of love.  
  
But it was impossible to think that Tezuka could be here for him. No, it must be something else. He couldn't raise his hopes for something he knew would fall through like that. The return to reality would be harder and more painful the more he fantasized. Just like waking up every morning after dreaming of happier times when the other was still with him, still standing there, next to him, overseeing the games being played on the Seigaku tennis courts, walking to the train station together after school, spending nights together at away tournaments and training camps. "Tezuka? I dropped by your place earlier – I forgot your son's gift yesterday – they said you and your wife were missing –"  
  
"She's not my wife."  
  
"What?" This was most definitely unexpected. What did Tezuka mean by that? For the past six? seven? years, they weren't able to have any more connections than a mere glance in the hallway because of the marriage, the wife, right?  
  
-~-~-~-  
  
(1) good grief the alliteration! So NOT planned – I hate alliteration!   
  
I'll have to stop here for today. My break is over – time to get to my own research project. ^.^ I love my advisor and all, but she really needs to reschedule our meetings. Otherwise, I'll spend a nice hour studying, then waste a good hour and a half every week in a library writing tenipuri that begs me to type it up and post it once I got to my room.  
  
Hope you liked it! I know it wasn't as emotional as part 1, but my writing seems to reflect my mood, and part one was written in a fit of nostalgia, I think. This week, I'm just tired. Exhausted. Midterms suck. Next week should be.. well, we'll just wait and see, ne?  
  
Comments, critiques, helpful criticism, etc. welcome - but please, only in reviews - I don't check my email for those. ^.^ Part three will hopefully be out by this time next week. =P Oh, and please visit my website!  
  
http://www.yinguang.tk  
  
Submit your stories (email: ladyoflight000@yahoo.com or link it in a comment at http://www.livejournal.com/users/shizukanahikari) , send me links to fitting stories so that I can ask the author, etc.etc.! I want it to be a site dedicated solely to the PoT breakup fandom – Drop me a line if you want to co-manage the site with me! ^.^;;; It'll never get updated otherwise… 


	3. Retry

End. I'm so going to enjoy writing this. I know the last one wasn't as emotion-ridden as the first. I think my writing reflects my state of mind – I am so exhausted from exams… but I just have to finish this! ^.^ I just came out of my last midterm, sat down in the library and wrote to my heart's content.  
  
It's OK, but it's unedited and I'm not fully satisfied with the end. I may revise it someday when I become better at writing conclusions.  
  
Title: Retry  
  
Part: 3/3 (I swear it's the last, I swear it's the last… I want to write about my Hyoutei boys now…)  
  
Rating: PG-R. Staying on the safe side. ::nods::  
  
WC: 1849  
  
Disclaimer: So glad the tenipuri boys are living in happier worlds than the ones I draw for them. (read: not mine)  
  
-~-~-~-  
  
Muscles that had almost forgotten how to not smile slacked in shock.  
  
"Not for much longer, that is," Tezuka rectified his last statement, realizing how strange it had sounded. "She left before I woke today – she'd left a note." Tezuka pulled a neatly folded piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. The fingers that offered and the fingers that accepted were careful to avoid direct contact, because nerves were already stretched to breaking and souls were reaching, desperate for the contact that hadn't been for seven years and could never be again.  
  
Slowly, Fuji unfolded the familiar stationary, which he recognized as the one the family used for important letters and documents. He skimmed through the distinctly feminine handwriting, too high-strung to carefully read anything. When he figured he got the main gist of it, he looked up at the staring Tezuka, who was looking rather out of it. His eyes had been glued to Fuji's face, as though memorizing every part of that face, looking at the gentleness still displayed everywhere, even on the more defined, more angular cheeks, down which no tears had flown since that night.  
  
"Did she really leave them? Signed?"  
  
"The papers are being processed by my lawyer as we speak."  
  
"Does that mean…"  
  
Fuji never got to finish his sentence. Unable to suppress years of yearning anymore, and without a wife to make the action one of infidelity, Tezuka reached an arm out and pulled Fuji into the tightest embrace they had ever shared, burying his face into the smaller man's mop of hair and breathing pure Fuji, arms wrapped so tightly around the slim frame he feared he'd crush the other's ribcage, but knowing the prodigy was stronger than he looked, he only pressed him closer, unable to control himself anymore.  
  
It wasn't like Fuji minded. He was still shocked, from the embrace, from the letter, from the fact that he was here, in his apartment, with him, holding him, loving him. After telling himself to stop dreaming of – dreaming for – Tezuka, to be held by the man again was impossible except in dreams. But sometimes, if you wish hard enough, if you wish so much harder than you ever did for that bicycle you so wanted when you were five, with all your heart and soul, with every fiber of your being, even the impossible can become real, can't they?  
  
The paper fluttered slowly to the floor as Fuji forgot its existence, wrapping his arms around Tezuka instead. "Buchou," he whispered affectionately. "Tezuka. Kunimitsu."  
  
Crystal droplet met crystal droplet, joining and mixing, becoming one, as did the souls that shed them. Eyes that had been dry since the day all sadness hid itself behind a mask overflowed with floods of pain that had been building up behind the heart's dam, washing away with it all the despair that had slowly collected and grew in the empty recesses of the hollowed out shell of a muscle. Two souls sighed as they finally got the contact they had been reaching out for for years, repressed by the mind and the body, controlled by society. They transgressed Joyce's governmental, societal, whatever, net over souls. Eternally, the souls would be together, bond between them all the stronger from the knowledge of the pain that even an ephemeral separation caused.  
  
From the real world that seemed so far away, a ringing finally broke through the silent stillness the two had stayed in, afraid to move, talk, breath, lest it all be a dream that faded into the morning light when reality knocked – or called, as the case was. But nothing lasts forever, and Fuji firmly fixed his smile back into place as Tezuka pulled out a golden cell phone, heart preparing itself for the crash of the real world's wake up call, telling him that Tezuka's wife was waiting for him, that it had all been a cruel joke. But he had gotten Tezuka once again, right? Maybe it wouldn't be as bad alone anymore?  
  
No, that was denial, and Fuji Syuusuke didn't do denial. Nothing would ever be OK if Tezuka wasn't him, wasn't by his side. Hadn't that already been proven when Tezuka left him the first time? How would this ever-so-brief moment of a dream that would most certainly someday mix with his other memories of happy times make him feel once he could no longer touch Tezuka again, could no longer have him, again?  
  
"It's done? It's official? Thank you!" Tezuka's voice, usually so stoic, unemotional, surprised Fuji with its pure, unbridled, ecstatic joy. Fuji watched, eyes widening as he realized this was the real world this was the real thing this wasn't a dream and Tezuka was his. "The divorce is official, Fuji. My lawyer will be contacting my family to tell them the situation. I'm no longer married."  
  
Fuji could only stare. It was real this time. So very very real. And the world turned black.  
  
It was warm. It was winter, but he felt warmer than he had in the past several summers. And it was dark. And there was a body next to him in bed.  
  
In bed?  
  
Fuji blinked and sat up, trying to recall what happened and figure out where he was. It wasn't hard to realize he was in his own bed, and that it was Tezuka's arm around his waist, Tezuka's body keeping him warm – oh! Tezuka? Looking down at the peacefully sleeping form next to him, Fuji smiled – really smiled – recalling the events before he'd passed out - probably from sheer exhaustion from his all nighter and the excitement and emotions. He remembered the note, and untangling himself from Tezuka's possessive hold - as much as he didn't ever want to leave Tezuka's side again, he was secure in the knowledge that nothing could keep them apart now - he went out to the living room, spotting the lavender paper easily against his hardwood floor. Picking it up, he sat on the sofa again, white moonlight still pouring in, just like the night before. He it really been less than a day ago when he had been looking at those pictures, soul crying inside at the hopelessness of life, made worse by the second reality check of Tezuka's marriage through his son?  
  
He carefully read the note this time, calmer than before and curious as to the woman's own reasons for wanting the end of the marriage.  
  
Dearest Kunimitsu,  
  
I'm sorry it had to be this way, but I cannot live without the man I love anymore. I tried to love you, and I really did, but it wasn't the once-in-a-lifetime love that tears at you when you're not together. When your friend came yesterday, I realized that you and he also suffered through our marriage. I met my love in junior high, as I remember hearing you and Fuji-san had. Now seems like a good time, too – we've done our duty and joined our families forever in blood. Our son is that union – we need not live the rest of our lives in pain for the union anymore. I have not been faithless to you these years, as I know you have not been to me. This is the first time I have called him since our wedding day. He has come for me. I signed the papers necessary for our divorce. Please reach for your own love, and sign these papers also. I always will love you, but it cannot be compared with what I feel for him, and what I know you feel for Fuji-san. Take care of our son, or leave him with our families. I will return for him soon, and to get the hopeful confirmation of our divorce. Goodbye.  
  
Fuji sighed, and leaned his head back. And froze. He head snapped forward. Junior high. That picture – she had attended Hyoutei! And she was wearing the a jacket from the boy's club… Fuji grabbed the album he'd put the photo in. There she was, with a guy's arm around her shoulder. A guy wearing a jersey, no jacket. Now just who was that again?  
  
"Fuji. You're awake." Tezuka's voice made Fuji look up, as the man sat down next to him, gently cupped his chin, and leaned in for what made Fuji feel like he was experiencing his first kiss all over again. Soft lips moved against each other, sweet, innocent, pure, almost making Fuji forget.  
  
Almost.  
  
Breaking for air, gasping, Fuji grinned up at his smiling lover. "Tezuka, you've got a good memory, right? This picture caught my eye last night and I blew it up, but I can't quite recall who this is. Do you remember?" He held up the photo for Tezuka's inspection.  
  
"Fuji, I don't want to look at Hyoutei pictures," Tezuka replied, eyebrow slightly twitching in what Fuji recognized as annoyance. Tezuka was back to his old self. He smiled.  
  
"Oh but it's not just any Hyoutei picture. Look closely."  
  
"Why? Wait… is that… oh..."  
  
"It is, isn't it?"  
  
"I remember her telling me she went to Hyoutei… I never knew she dated Wakashi."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Wakashi Hiyoshi. The boy who lost to Echizen. That must be who she was talking about in the letter…"  
  
"Yes, it must have." Fuji looked at the letter again. Then he set both the letter and the picture down on his coffee table, and leaned into Tezuka again, who put his arm about Fuji. "It doesn't matter though. I'm just glad she had him, because if she didn't, then I wouldn't have gotten you back."  
  
"Yes. That Wakashi… we sure owe him a lot, you and I."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He was one of those who pushed Echizen to a higher level of play, remember?"  
  
"Not in particular. I do remember Hyoutei's Atobe, though. He was the one who took you away from me, but he also gave you to me."  
  
"Was he now."  
  
"Mmm. It took your going away to make me realize how much exactly you meant to me. Then I thought we'd be together forever when you came back. But it all ended that night you told me about your engagement."  
  
"I remember. I felt the same."  
  
"Who knew she did also… her life must have also ended that night she said goodbye to that Hyoutei guy."  
  
"Yea…"  
  
There was a comfortable silence as they both thought about the years when they weren't together. The happiest times of your life should never happen when you're so young, because then you're always left with an empty feeling inside of you and your mind is filled with wishes of wanting to go back to that time and you're consumed by your emotions and your memories and your dusty volumes of photo albums of a time long past. And once they start, they don't end until the end of your life. Because once that person you love more than anything else is taken away from you, you're as good as dead.  
  
He should call Eiji tomorrow.  
  
"Tezuka?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Hold me?"  
  
"I'll never let go again."  
  
-~-~-~-  
  
Whew! Finished! ^.^ Happy now.  
  
Oh, and I only used Hiyoshi 'cause I figured he was the only one of Hyoutei honorable enough to stay away from his girl if she married. =.= Can't imagine Atobe ever doing anything like that.  
  
What do you think? Please leave me comments – they really do help when I'm working on improving my writing and all. ^.^ I know the grammar wasn't perfect throughout this story – I decided to forgo grammar for content & feeling. Did that work?  
  
And must I keep plugging the website and asking for help? =/ I'll just hafta take it down if there's no interest...  
  
http://www.yinguang.tk  
  
I haven't gotten any submissions. =/ I promise I'll work on it more this weekend! I finished my last midterm and now I just have a project to code, so I should have more time to work on that. ^.^ Please submit stories/graphics/etc.! 


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